It was a pleasant and
home-like room, and Kent was conscious of a keener pang for the loss
of Jimmie Turnbull and the disappearance of Philip Rochester, as he
gazed around. The lawyer and the bank cashier had been, until that
winter, congenial comrades, sharing their business success and their
apartment in complete accord; and now a shadow as black as that
enveloping the unlighted apartment hung over their good names,
threatening one or the other with the charge of forgery and of
murder. Kent sighed and turned back to the silent detective.
"I can best answer your question by telling you that the day after
Jimmie Turnbull died Mr. Clymer sent for me," he began. "I found
Colonel McIntyre with him and was told that the Colonel had lost
valuable securities left at the bank. These securities had been
given by the treasurer of the bank to Jimmie Turnbull when he
presented a letter from Colonel McIntyre instructing the bank to
surrender the securities to Jimmie."
"Well?" questioned Ferguson. "Go on, sir."
"That letter was a forgery.
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